PS 

5503 

19V4 

[Copy S 



BUCK 



SYRINX 



M C M X I V 




Reserve Storag# 




Glass_ 
Book_ 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 



SYRINX 



PASTELS OF HELLAS 



BY 

Mitchell S. Buck 
/f 



adiov d TZOLfifjV to rebv fikloQ rj to KaTax^^ 
T^v' and Tag TzkTpag KaTaTiel^eTai vipodiv v6o)p 

THEOCRITUS 



NEW YORK 
CLAIRE MARIE 

MCMXIV 






Copyright, 19 14 

BY 

Claire Marie 



PRINTED MAY, 1914 



JUL 2 1914 



SYRINX 



INDEX 



Foreword 9 

The Shepherd 11 

In the Forest 13 

Virgin Love 15 

Delphi 17 

The Friend 19 

Lesbos 21 

The Ragged Cloak 23 

To the Aphrodite 25 

Ashes of Desire 27 

Phaon 29 

False Dawn 31 

The Isle 33 

The Votaress 35 

At the Games 37 

The Epicure 39 

The Orgy 41 

Nocturne 43 

The Seeker 45 

On the Agora 47 

Shadow Gold 49 

Pan 51 

Circe 53 

The Falling|Leaves 55 

Lethe 57 

7 



FOREWORD 

One drowsy day of summer, Syrinx wandered 
in the cool depths of the forest. And there 
Pan found her, singing and garlanded with 
flowers. 

— Brown-limbed and supple nymph, all the 
pine-crowned satyrs and the dryads babble 
thy name. Now even Pan himself desires — 
thou art very fair ... I love thee. 

But pale Syrinx only smiled in disdain for 
words too often heard. 

The god's quick eyes darkened. He smiled. 
His ready hand leapt out . . . The frail 
virgin darted away hke a shadow among the 
trees and over the fields . . . 
9 



lO SYRINX 



Her soft lips open to her striving breath, 
her eyes appeahng, the nymph slips over the 

flowered bank of a clear stream . . . The 
waters ripple about her thighs. 

— O naiads, help me quickly! 

Pan reaches out . . . His arms enfold 
a thicket of sighing reeds. 

Later, he culls the swa3dng reeds to cut them 
in uneven lengths and bind them side by side. 
Then, placing them to his lips, he sighs . 

The clear notes gHde out across the fields. 
Sometimes they are very sad and men who 
hear them weep; sometimes they are loud and 
clear and men who hear them laugh and sing; 
sometimes they shrill and men draw their 
cloaks about them, dreaming of singular things. 



THE SHEPHERD 

When it is night, before the moon has risen 
and the skies are spattered thick with stars; 
when, in the distance, all things blend into one 
and the sleeping earth touches the arched sky, 
I stand before my tiny hut and pray. 



Below me on the hillside, their coats glowing 
softly in the starlight, he my sheep. And from 
the trees, the brooks, the grasses, the incessant 
chorus of midsummer nights trills through the 
air. 



Yet I know not to what or to whom I pray. 
Not to the Sim or moon for they are nowhere 
to be seen; not to the gods for there is no temple 
II 



12 SYRINX 



nor even a statue here; not to the stars for there 
are too many and some, neglected, would be 
jealous. 



Perhaps it is to the sighing wind I pray; 
perhaps to the shadows and the rolling hills; 
perhaps to the night itself which seems so 
peaceful, all embracing, mysteriously divine. 



IN THE FOREST 

Down the shadowed forest glade, the nymph 
flashes like a silver arrow from a bow. Her 
golden hair streams out like a flying veil; her 
eyes are bright with terror; her crimson, sobbing 
lips are salt with tears. 

Behind her, a dark shadow darting nimbly 
over the silent earth, a satyr speeds, his cheeks 
all flushed with red, his clutching hands stretched 
out. 

— Ho, ho, ho! chuckles an old man, leaning 
upon a staff. Ho, ho, ho! Why dost thou run? 
Thou wilt be caught! Thou wilt be caught! 

High overhead in the sunhght, a bird sings 
gloriously to the open sky. On the forest path, 
13 



14 SYRINX 



a squirrel rushes madly over the grass and 
scampers up a mossy trunk. 

A gasp — quick steps upon the earth — a cry. 

— Ho, ho, ho! chuckles an old man, leaning 
upon a staff. Ho, ho, ho! Why didst thou 
run? Why didst thou run! 



VIRGIN LOVE 



I sit before my window drawing the gleaming 
threads from the distaff — and I wait. Yet 
even when I see him I am silent, clasping my 
longing hands over my knees to still their 
trembling. 



Tossing the boyish curls away from his brow, 
bright-eyed and lovely, how can I hope that he 
should think of me? How dare I hope that he, 
so beautiful, should stoop to love? 



His voice thrills in my heart; his accidental 
touch flashes like fire through my veins. And 
then my veiling lashes droop, I bite my lips 
15 



l6 SYRINX 



and lay sweet, cooling flowers against my 
cheeks. 

When he looks at me and smiles, I fear him. 
Yet some day, perhaps, he will hold me in his 
arms and then — then I will only love him and 
be very happy. 



DELPHI 



On the wide green slopes of Parnassus there 
is a marble temple, a very holy temple in the 
eyes of men, where a god speaks in a mysterious 
way. 



Purified by the ritual ablutions, clad in 
spotless white and crowned with laurel, a 
young priestess, very pale and very beautiful, 
approaches the dread chasm which opens upon 
the underworld. 



Her flesh quivers at the approachmg ecstasy, 
her breast rises and falls in the divine afiiation, 
her eyes darken with prophecy. How frail she 
is to be the mouthpiece of a god! . 
17 



l8 SYRINX 



But at length her limbs relax, her head falls 
forward and, very slowly, she begins to speak. 



But I — I love the simple gods of the woods 
and fields; they are nearer, they speak more 
gently, and their voice is the song of birds and 
the murmurings of the night. 



THE FRIEND 

Surely I dream. It is not possible thou hast 
really gone. It is not possible that I have lost 
thee. 



From the shadows, I saw thee in his arms 
above the flower-strewn threshold. And all 
that night I stood alone under the stars, my 
hand still clasping the charred fragments of the 
torch burned for thy good fortune. 



The distant rumor of the sea murmurs thy 
name; the silence of the forests is perfumed 
with thy memory. Each well-remembered ges- 
ture, each fair word, each glance of eyes which 
understood so well . . . 
19 



20 SYRINX 



Thou hast but gone on a long journey, hast 
thou not? And hfe ebbs quickly, hand in hand 
with death . . . But thou wilt return. 
Before I know the dream is true, surely thou 
wilt return . . . 



LESBOS 



Upon the bosom of this sun-kissed sea, 
beneath fair skies, caressed by gentle southern 
winds perfumed like enamored sighings, lies the 
Isle of Dreams. 



Its marble cliffs, bright with anemone, fra- 
grant with myrtle, rest like glorious temples 
on the blue waters. On the flowered grass 
among the olive groves or shadowed by the 
pines where lapping waves caress the sandy 
shore, virgms and youths, inspired with beauty, 
walk singing, hand in hand. 



In the bright cities, laughter fills the air, 
minglmg with pulsing music and fresh voices, 

21 



22 SYRINX 



From the altars of the sanctuaries, thin fila- 
ments of incense waver out, diffusing through 
the sunlight. 



There Sappho lives to sing of love. There 
young Larichus, white-limbed and beautiful, 
pours from the ghttering wine cups crimson 
libations to the gods. And over all, the breath 
of desire floats Hke a perfumed cloud. 



THE RAGGED CLOAK 



— Release my arm, O insolent, and give me 
back that rose thou hast dared to steal! 



I love thee. 



— Thou lovest?— beggar! Then look not 
at me whose love is worth a mina at the least. 
Away, tattered chlamys, seek thy kind! 

— I love thee. 



— Ho, friends! Who wants a beggar for a 
lover? Here is one ready— almost anxious. 
Look at his faded cloak! Behold this rent 
23 



24 SYRINX 



through which I thrust my hand! . . . 
Ahl . . . Ah! . . . Off with thy 
rags, deceiver! How wicked of thee to cheat 
me so! What! What sayest thou? 



— I scorn thee. 



TO THE APHRODITE 



Thou art the source of all the loves; truly 
thou art very fair. Yet who could say I am 
not fairer still? 

Thy rounded limbs are cold like snow while 
mine are yielding and warm, glowing with 
quivering life at a lover's touch. Thy lips 
which seem so beautiful are white and hard, 
while mine are like red poppies, tremulous and 
sweet. No perfumed breath exhales from thee, 
nor canst thou gasp thine ecstasy into a silenced 
ear. 

Yet I adore thee, for thou art immortal and 
divine. In the twilight of the sanctuary, thy 
pure and flawless limbs will glow through the 
25 



26 SYRINX 



eddying incense after my own, so beautiful 
now, have crumbled into dust. Men will look 
up to thee long after remembrance of me has 
passed away, and still thou wilt inflame their 
quickening desire when my frail shade is lost 
among the dead. 



ASHES OF DESIRE 



How soft this couch of thine! Beneath my 
tingling nudity, its glowing silken covers scarcely 
seem to bear me up . . . Let me lie so 
awhile, laved in the utter silence of the flesh. 



Spread out my hair like waves about my 
head ... A moistened tendril clings to 
my weary lips. Draw it away for me, so that 
I need not stir even a finger to complete my 
peace. 



How fair these moments— and how dearly 
bought! . . . Alas! ... Yet be not 
27 



28 SYRINX 



hurt because I call them dearly bought. Thou 
art a man — thou couldst not understand. Nor 
couldst thou know I love thee more for them 
than for all other things . . . 



PHAON 

Must I woo thee, flower of Lesbian youth, 
fair-skinned and supple, insensible to love, 
disdainful as a god? Must Sappho sing to 
thee and play the man, bringing her sweetest 
lyrics to thy scornful loveliness? 



Among these perfumed gardens where the 
glowing rose and hyacinth breathe out their 
fragrant souls, among the tinkling fountains 
and the oHve groves, canst thou not find, within 
thine heart, one spark of glowing love which I 
can sigh into a flame? 



Alas! Thy brow is icy cold, thine hand all 
imresponsive to my touch. Thine eyes look 
far away, in pure content of Aphrodite's gift. 
29 



30 SYRINX 



Why wilt thou have it so? Perhaps, in days 
to come, when Sappho's cithern sleeps and 
Sappho wanders in the twilight land, men will 
look back to thee and curse thy beauty that it 
stilled her song . . . Ah! Phaon! 



FALSE DAWN 



O friend, I am not She thou seekest. My 
hair is warm and golden, mine eyes are blue; 
Uke hers, my lips are sweet — thou knowest. 



But in thine ears my voice echoes like a voice 
heard long ago which calls thee still across the 
vast soHtudes. The touch of my hand is but 
the shadow of some past caress which distant 
memory recalls to thee. 



Because I too have loved, I know. And I 
have seen her image weaving like a phantom 
through the desire of thine eyes. 
31 



32 SYRINX 



Because I too have loved, O friend, search 
on: I am not She thou seekest. 



THE ISLE 



How the sea glitters in the sunlight! Far 
out over the flashing waters, seest thou the 
white sail of that speeding boat which almost 
seems to fly above the ripples? 



Here on this pebbled beach, caressed by the 
clear blue waters, where spreading reaches from 
the lapping waves glide up like the pleading 
hands of nereids, the gods are very near. 



They say, to this lovely island, mighty Zeus, 
concealed by the semblance of a white bull, 
bore on his back Europa, the peerless virgin, 
the source of his desire. 
33 



34 SYRINX 



It may be at this very spot they came up 
from the waters. Perhaps among the grassy 
dells through which we lately wandered, they 
also loved. Perhaps in this grotto by the shore 
they slept, wearied with love, the virgin mur- 
muring through some happy dream, her fair 
head pillowed on a god-like breast. 



THE VOTARESS 



For the beauty thou has given me, O goddess, 
I thank thee . 



I stand in my marbled bath and see, reflected 
in the green water, the clear glory of my body, 
smooth and glowing beneath the caress of my 
hands. On the streets, I appear in my fairest 
vestments and costHest jewels. When the 
passing men turn to look at me, I part my 
sanguined lips in a warm smile; and each month, 
at the full moon, O goddess, I lay at thy feet a 
mina earned in thy name. 



Yet neither thy love nor the white poppies 
of Persephone bring the forgetfulness I crave. 
35 



36 SYRINX 



Through the long days when I am alone, I dream 
of sunlit meadows and crystal streams and, 
above the noises of the city, the call of shep- 
herds^ pipes whispers in my ears . 



Then I close my door and, weeping, clothe 
myself in a simple Hnen tunic which my lovers 
never see and which is marked with green and 
red. 



AT THE GAMES 



Well run, Lysippos! Well run, O gleaming 
arrow! Artemis herself is not one half so fleet! 



(By Zeus! nor half so marvelously agile — 
that I swear! See how the gliding muscles of 
his thighs ripple beneath the skin. Behold the 
slender waist, the broad, smooth bosom stirred 
by the breath of conflict.) 



Ah! The laurel! The laurel to the guide of 
winds! . . . Ho, Nisos, why limpest thou? 
Ho, ho! Thou wert outrun a thousand times, 
thou feigner of accidents! 
37 



38 SYRINX 



(No wonder that, when he shows himself on 
the Agora, even the cheeks of the old men grow 
pale; no wonder the philosophers cease their 
windy nothings and gaze abashed . . . 
But they are all fools! . . . Listen, I 
will tell thee a great secret . . . It is I 
he loves! It is I he loves! . . . Ah! 
. By Zeus! he is coming this way!) 



THE EPICURE 



Go, thou of the golden hair, and bathe thy- 
self in perfumed waters; rub thy body with 
wine and fragrant oils so thy suppled skin may 
glow and glide, softer than silk beneath my 
touch. 



Loose thou thine hair above the smoking 
incense that, being pregnant with the divine 
fragrance, it may delight me as it falls about 
my face, over my lips. 



Then lay upon thy slender nudity this tunic, 
these silken scarves and, over all, this purple 
vestment broidered with fine gold. 
39 



40 SYRINX 



When thou hast done these things — return. 
If thou art smiHng, warm with desire; if I find 
thee fair: perhaps thou wilt be loved. 



THE ORGY 



— Pliinge thy wreath . . . into the wine, 
as I do. Now drink from the blossoms. It is 
delicious . . . Ho, there! My friend is 
thirsty. I am sure he is thirsty. Give him the 
Cretan wine; he hkes it because it is red . . . 

— O lassitude! . . . Thy lips are like 
a flower at my throat . . . 

— This roasted fowl, I swear, is dainter than 
a beautiful woman. Now I maintain that 
pleasures such as this . 

— Let her alone, thou ape; she is a Lesbian 
. . . What is it to thee? . . . Who 

41 



42 SYRINX 



threw that cup? O shame! It was a rare 
Etruscan glaze! How strangely the fragments 
gleam . 

— lovely, glowing Hmbs ! skin like petals 
of the rose! More maddening than all wines 
the fair breath sobbing past thy crimsoned 
lips . 

— Gods! Gods! I weep. See, my sleeve 
is all wet with tears! I can drink . 

no more ... I can drink . . . 

— Dionysos, strike the profaner dead! 



NOCTURNE 



Far away, on an island of the sea, lives a 
woman in a palace of gold. Chains of gold are 
about her waist, and upon her arms rings of 
gold and rubies and stones of beryl. All alone 
she Hves, resting by night upon a couch of 
purple and by day upon a throne of ivory. 



They say no one has ever known the warm 
desire of her Hps nor, with a trembhng hand, 
caressed the pHant splendor of her limbs. 
Strange tales are whispered — she is very fair 
. But once each month when the world 
is hushed and the round moon gleams high in 
the heavens, she stands on the terrace of her 
dwelling. Alone in the moonlight, Hke a silvery 
image, she slips from her veils and loosing her 
43 



44 SYRINX 



hair from its glittering mesh, lets it float like a 
deep shadow into the night . . . The 
warm wind of the south caresses it with a thou- 
sand furtive hands and, stealing between the 
wavering strands, sweeps on, laden \vith a 
singular perfume. 



Then love starts from its troubled slumber 
and in the dim temples of Astarte the flowers 
upon the altars bloom afresh. 



THE SEEKER 



They asked: — What seekest thou? 
And the old man answered: — I seek for 
Truth. 



— I seek for Truth — all other desires are 
long since dead. For many years, in far lands, 
before strange gods, my fruitless quest has 
drawn me on. But in the sanctuaries all is 
vanity, all is lust for temporal power, all is 
profaned by the impious hand of man. 



— Many have asked: What seekest thou? 

And at my answer some have laughed while 

others have eagerly revealed strange phantoms 

which they worshiped — satisfied. But in the 

45 



46 SYRINX 



sanctuaries all is vanity, all is lust for temporal 
power, all is profaned by the impious hand of 
man. 

Those gathered around him as he spoke, 
laughed also. But one, standing alone, said 
gently: 

— O friend who seekest vainly, not in shadowy 
temples but among the fields, beneath out- 
spreading trees, upon the bosom of the waters, 
lies the occult heart of thy desire. For Truth, 
alone, does not exist. Seek Beauty if thou 
desirest peace. 



ON THE AGORA 



— Seest thou that young man in the white 
linen tunic with a yellow sash? Look at him 
well. 



— I see him. Who is he? 



— He is a poet. His verses are very strange. 
In them one can hear the sighing of the wind, 
the murmur of waters, the whisperings of the 
trees . . . They are very strange . 
But that is not all. Some which I have heard 
are stranger still . . . They say he has 
seen the nymphs. They say he has slept in 
the forests among the satyrs; that Pan himself 
47 



48 SYRINX 



once listened from a leafy bower while he sang 
. And when he plays the syrinx, no one 
can resist him. 

— He is looking this way. How strangely 
piercing his eyes! . . . He is very beau- 
tiful. Let us go speak with him . 

— I dare not. I dare not. 



SHADOW GOLD 



High on the terrace, the hot night close 
about me, the starry sky pressing down over 
my eyes, I lie stretched out upon a couch awaiting 
forgetfulness which never comes. Crouched on 
the floor at my feet, a slave girl dreams gently, 
one slender arm thrown out across the draperies, 
a cheek pillowed on a hollowed shoulder. 



Instead of the sleep for which I long in vain, 
innumerable visions flit across my memory — 
gleaming visions of beauty with eyes that gaze 
at me and hands that beckon ... I 
curse them, shadows of joys which never were 
and, one by one, they fade away. 



One vision only never fades as I toss sleepless 
upon my couch — one vision with golden hair 

49 



50 SYRINX 



where once my hands strayed imdenied . 
alas! . . . With soft, warm lips where 
once I drank of immortahty — one vision with 
averted head and white limbs fragrant with 
another love than mine . 



I stir imeasily and groan. The slave girl 
awakes with a whimpering sigh and, raising 
her head, looks at me with drowsy, questioning 
eyes. 



PAN 



These are the forests of Arcadia . . . 
Knowest thou why they are so fair, why the 
wind sighs so gently among the trees, why the 
leaves are so green, the earth so warm and 
soft, why the fields are bright with flowers and 
why, from the reeds beside the brooks, strange 
whispers come? 

Knowest thou, too, why the sun shines down 
so bright by day and why, at night, the moon- 
Hght dreams upon the sleeping world, peopling 
the deep shadows of the rocks and trees with 
unknown things? 

Listen and I will tell thee ... A god 
dwells here. 

51 



52 SYRINX 



From far away, echoing over the flowering 
fields, gliding among the trees, hearest thou 
those limpid notes clear as the love-song of a 
bird? Hearest thou those pure, sweet notes 
blending with earth and sky, voicing the subtle 
spirit of the woods and fields? 

It is the god ... be still and listen. 



CIRCE 



Bathed in the flooding moonlight, thy golden 
palace gleams amidst the whispering pines and 
cypress trees. From the wide open doors, the 
road winds like a pale ribbon across the fields 
to the dark line of the shore. 

Within thy palace, lamps are burning, harps 
and citherns whisper and sigh of love; and the 
laughter of thy guests, the clashing of cups 
and dishes, echo among the trees. 

But thou — thou standest alone, high on the 
terrace. The moonlight covers thee like a misty 
veil through which thy jewels flash like living eyes. 

How beautiful, how darkly, deadly beautiful 
thou art! How black thine unbound hair, how 
53 



54 SYRINX 



deep thine eyes! How like a spirit of the night 
as thou standest, with arms outstretched, mur- 
muring strange words above the smoking incense 
while the hoarse croakings of the frogs, the 
shrieks of flittmg bats, resound like sweetest 
music in thine ears! 



THE FALLING LEAVES 



When the sun sets all too soon beyond the 
mountains and the western skies are flooded 
with pallid crimson: 

When the trees stand naked and black against 
the afterglow and the evening star shines high 
above the gathering mists of twilight: 



When the earth is chilled by sweeping winds: 
when the water of the pools Hes dead and silent 
and the last leaves drop, one by one, from the 
trees: 

The naiads forsake the springs, the syrinx 
of the satyrs is heard no more and the dryads, 
55 



56 SYRINX 



deep in the hearts of the trees, whimper and 
wrap themselves in the shelter of their long, 
dark hair. 



And I — I stand alone in the vast solitude 
and tremble. 



LETHE 



Through the yellow twilight of the under- 
world, two shadows glided over the asphodel 
in bloom. At the verge of a leaden stream, 
they paused. 



— Here thou drinkest, said One, and all 
remembrance will be washed from thee. It is 
the Law. There is no other way, no other path 
from life to life. 



— I cannot! Oh, I cannot drink! . 
Why must I lose that which is greater than all 
other things? My heart is filled with memories 



57 



58 SYRINX 



— Be brave. In a moment thou wilt not 
even know thou hast forgotten. 



Along the shore, the lotos blooms floated like 
pale flames; and softly the dark water glided 
onward, hiding the secrets in its breast. 



LIST IN BELLES-LETTRES 
Published by CLAIRE MARIE 
Three East Fourteenth St., New York 



SONNETS FROM THE PATAGONIAN: THE STREET 
OF LITTLE HOTELS. By Dokald Evans, Author of 
"Discords." Jade boards. $1.25. (Second printing.) 

LITTLE WAX CANDLE— A Farce in One Act by 
Louise Norton. Burnt orange boards. $1.25. (Second 
Printing.) 

SALOON SONNETS: WITH SUNDAY FLUTINGS— 
A Volume of Poems by Allen Norton. Brescia blue 
boards. $1.25. 

TENDER BUTTONS: OBJECTS, FOOD, ROOMS— 
Studies in Description by Gertrude Stein. Canary 
boards. $1.00. 

SYRINX: PASTELS OF HELLAS. By Mitchell S. 
Buck. Grey boards. $1.25. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

lilliiiliillilliliiilllli 

015 973 585 $ 



'^ft ft '- ^' ' - '■ ' '■' 



^ \i ^" 



*■ ^ 



itiK J*i ,fe 



